


scatter what remains

by royalwisteria



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, fluff-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalwisteria/pseuds/royalwisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty isn't talking and Miller doesn't like the silence. It bothers him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	scatter what remains

Monty hasn’t spoken for days. There have been utterances, greetings, tight smiles, but he hasn’t rattled on excitedly about anything since— before. It’s not like him. Miller doesn’t like the silence and he’s upset with himself for not noticing it earlier. His dad and he have been catching up, so to speak, so he was distracted.

David wants to know about the first days on the ground, what it was like, and Miller sugarcoats it for him. He doesn’t need to know about the things he’s done, not on top of being a thief. That is a subject they don’t talk about; it’s become an art, a specialty of their family, to not talk about what really matters. Miller’s really, really good at it. The Miller family are people of action. His mom wasn’t a Guard and worked in the cafeteria, but there were crises every day and she always leapt into action. He is a product of action and silent love.

He’s angry he didn’t notice Monty’s silence. It takes him longer to realize that Monty is isolating himself as well. Bellamy is busy; Clarke left; Harper sometimes flinches at drill sounds; and Jasper is pale with rage every day. Who is there to talk to Monty? Is his silence of his own volition or because the people he can talk to have dwindled or left him?

Miller does not feel remorse for what he has done and that’s probably the difference. He has strangled someone; he tortured Lincoln; he has killed and he feels no worse for it. And what has Monty done? Miller bets that no one knows what he’s going through. Miller doesn’t even know where Monty was during those final hours in Mount Weather.

When the Mount Weather guards had gone through the rooms, looking for the dissidents most likely to hide fugitives, Miller had not stepped forward. He feels guilt for that; the elderly man had been kind to him and the others. He had not stepped forward, but Fox had burst forth and the guards had searched the rooms before killing the man. They found him and they were taken back to the dorms. They had been chained up and Fox was the first on the table; she was the only one captured back when they were assaulted in this very room. It stank of blood and Miller had shut his eyes tight against the blood, though he couldn’t cover his ears or block his nose.

Winter is coming and Monty is still wearing the gray sweater he took when they left. A group went back and collected clothes and supplies from Mount Weather. Bellamy tells Miller they discussed moving into the mountain for the winter, but Bellamy had persuaded them against it.

“You shouldn’t be put through that,” he said blankly, staring into the forest where Clarke disappeared. Miller nods.

“Yeah. It sucked.”

Bellamy smiles. “Can you ask everyone what they want to do? We’ve been back for a while and…”

Miller nods, shrugs, and then smiles; they both know who the everyone refers to and that everyone is pretty much the only ones they care about. “Sure. Has Kane been riding your ass for productivity or some shit?”

Bellamy sighs and shifts, looking into the forest again. “Yeah. Thanks Miller.”

He nods and walks off. Bellamy doesn’t want his empathy or sympathy, not that Miller could give it. He’s not the type. He broke his leg when a preteen and his mom had reprimanded him when he cried. The words were, ‘Crying will not solve your problems. Talking will not solve your problems. Action will.’ Unfortunately, those were the words that led to his kleptomania. Miller doesn’t know what happened to her, and he doesn’t want to know. All that’s sure is she’s dead. He doesn’t need more details than that, nor is there anyone likely to hand them over. David wouldn’t. Miller knows his dad.

Clipboard in hand with a plastic sheet with a checklist, Miller finds Monty in the forest, crouching and hands buried in the first snowfall from the night before.

“We’ll be getting a lot more,” he says. Monty jumps.

“I— hi.”

Miller stares at Monty, who stares back, and it’s a lot of eye contact and suddenly Miller is pulling out the clipboard and staring at it. “I’m coming by and asking everyone about what they want to do to help out.”

“I’m helping Agro out,” he says. Miller feels like an idiot.

“Oh. That’s good. I’ll check you off then.” Monty nods and continues to stare at him as he makes marks on the clipboard. “Uh, so, how’ve you been?”

Monty shrugs and finally looks away, back towards the snow. “I’m fine.”

Miller frowns. “Are you sure?”

Monty continues to stare at the snow. “Yes. Positive.”

“Haven’t seen you with Jasper lately,” Miller says. “You two okay?”

His answer is silence and, with a sigh, Miller leaves. He can’t help someone who doesn’t want help.

 

 

Later, when he’s talking with Jasper about the future, he brings it up. “What’s up with Monty?”

Jasper’s face, usually withdrawn, starts to pale further with anger. “I don’t care,” he bites. “He— is that all you wanted to talk about?”

Miller blinks and grabs Jasper’s shoulder before he can flee. “I want to hear about Monty,” he growls, hand tightening. Jasper winces and, _good_ , Miller thinks. Jasper should hurt. “You two are best friends.”

“Not anymore,” Jasper says, freeing himself from Miller’s grip. “He helped kill Maya.”

This is unbelievable. “You’re upset because he helped free our people?”

Jasper shrugs, mouth drawn tight. “We’re done here,” he says and walks away.

What the hell is going on. Miller stares at the clipboard the the few left he has to approach and debates doing even that. Jasper’s continually furious, his dad refuses to talk about his mom and what happened on the Ark, and Monty’s not talking.

He visits the four left. Bellamy is counting on him, after all, and Miller feels better when he hands the clipboard over the next morning.

“You’re done?” Bellamy asks and sighs, running a hand through his hair. He looks haggard and like he hasn’t slept. “Good. Thanks.”

“Monty’s not talking,” he says. “And Jasper’s furious. What happened, back when—?”

Bellamy doesn’t look at him, nor answer, and then slowly turns to face the forest. It’s been a week and it seems like that’s his answer for everything: searching for Clarke. It frustrates Miller. Looking to the forest isn’t going to answer the very real problems they have; of all people, Bellamy should trust Clarke and her choices. He shouldn’t be searching for her like a lost puppy.

“He helped with the irradiation,” he says quietly. “Clarke and I pulled the lever, but Monty was the one who gave us the chance.”

Miller squints into the forest as well and wonders if Monty’s out there again. The snow is gone, though the air is chilly and the wind has a sharp bite. “So what?”

“It was a lot of people,” Bellamy says heavily.

“You didn’t hear the screams,” Miller reminds him. “You didn’t see smell the blood, see how Fox lost consciousness and still they drilled. They drilled until all her blood was on the floor and they tossed her body like garbage. It was a hard choice, but it was the right choice.”

Bellamy looks at him, eyes searching. Miller’s face is hard, a flinty look from both his dad, chief guard and mom, refusing to dole more food than allotted to people who beg. “It was the only choice,” Bellamy finally says. “We had no other options.”

Miller snorts. “Sure,” he says. “Whatever. I’m glad you did it.”

Is he callous? he wonders as Bellamy’s expression turns to despair. They have both done things, but maybe Miller’s the only one who doesn’t regret the death. What they’ve done, they did to survive. That’s what’s important here, on the ground: survival. They do what they need to survive.

He walks away.

 

 

Monty is at the forest edges, splayed out on the ground, eyes closed and possibly drinking in the sunshine. He’s still wearing that sweater and nothing else. There’s mud smeared on in some places and dry grass clings to it. He has to be freezing.

“Okay,” Miller says, standing by his feet, Miller’s shadow covering him. “I get it. You feel guilty for those lives. You regret it.”

Monty opens his eyes and blinks up at him. “What?”

“Bellamy told me you helped, with the irradiation, and I don’t really care. You did right— you did good.”

Monty sits up, bringing his knees to his chest, and continues staring up at him. A moment later, Miller is sitting cross-legged in front of him because he doesn’t want Monty’s neck to hurt. “I do feel guilty,” Monty says thoughtfully. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Miller says impatiently.

Monty stares at him, and it’s somehow different from before. It felt blank, as though Monty saw without seeing; now Monty has a small smile on his face, eyes alight with something new. Fighting a blush, Miller looks into the forest. Sometimes it’s hard to comprehend how large the trees are and how very small they are. Sometimes Miller feels as though, like the trees, there is more to Monty than he could ever know.

“I don’t regret it,” Monty says and Miller senses him looking into the forest as well. “I just don’t like how we have all changed.”

“You’ve not changed,” Miller says. “You’re still—” Still what? Miller and Monty didn’t talk much before Mount Weather, but they had known each other. On Unity Day Monty had poured him a drink with a wide smile and their fingers had brushed; odd, now that he thinks about it, that he remembers that fleeting warmth. “You’re still you.”

Monty shakes his head. “I’m not. None of us are”

Miller stares at Monty. “Hate to break it to you,” he says heavily. “But I’m not so different. I’m the same.”

Monty chuckles. “Sure, Miller. Sure.”

“Nate,” he says. “With my dad here, I figure people should start calling me by my name.”

Monty tips his head back, staring into the sky. Miller traces the length of his neck, sees his adams apple bob, before glancing up as well. It is a light blue, somewhat dim, with clouds scudding at the horizon. He stares that direction for a moment longer before sighing and takes off his jacket— though, honestly, it’s his dad’s. David found a new coat, so Miller figures it’s okay to give it away.

“It’s getting cold,” he says and tosses it to Monty. Monty catches it reflexively and his fingers tighten around the thick fabric before he’s shaking his head.

“I can’t. Miller— Nate, I can’t.”

Miller shrugs and fights the shiver as the wind blows around them. “Pretty sure this is the only way to make you wear one.”

Monty tries to hand it back, but Miller holds his hands up and away and then walks away. “It’s getting cold,” he says again, then shouts, walking backwards. “Stay warm. Stay safe.”

 

 

Miller asks Kane for a new jacket, who sighs and looks over at Abby Griffin. Miller’s not sure how to address the doctor, as she was the one they all saw for their check-ups on the Ark. Miller’s not a young boy anymore, which gives pause, because if he’s not that boy, is he the same at all?

“We got some extra coats from Mount Weather,” Kane says. “What happened to yours?”

Miller shrugs. “Gave it away.”

Abby gestures to Miller. “Follow me.”

They walk through some twisted corridors until Abby unlocks a room full of clothes. “Did you take any off the dead ones?” he asks as he starts going through piles. When she doesn’t reply and he looks up, her face is withdrawn.

“No. That would have been grossly inappropriate.”

Miller grins to himself and picks a jacket from the ground. It’ s not as heavy as his dad’s was, as it was designed to withstand the cold on the Ark, but it’ll do. “Sure, like it was appropriate to drill Fox until she died.” He snorts. “Thanks for the coat.”

Abby doesn’t say anything else as Miller passes her. He shrugs the coat on; it’s a little too long, but nothing he can’t work with. It’s black, which works perfectly and zips snug.

 

 

“What happened to your coat?” Bellamy asks as they patrol together. They don’t think the Grounders will come back, but better safe than sorry.

“Gave it to Monty.”

Bellamy hums. “Good call.”

“Have I changed?” he asks abruptly, stopping. Bellamy takes a few steps before he, too, pauses in their patrol.

“We’ve all changed,” he says. “We’ve all done things we regret and didn’t want to.”

“I haven’t,” he says. “Everything— everything I’ve done, I don’t regret it. I’m glad I did it.”

“What, so that means you’ve not changed?” Bellamy looks at him than smiles softly. Bellamy has changed, that’s the most obvious one; Clarke changed; Jasper changed, the goggles who knows where. Raven is tougher than ever before. “You’re actually kinder than you were before,” Bellamy says and resumes the patrol.

“What does that mean?” Miller demands jogging to catch up. “Kinder?”

“Before, you never would’ve given your jacket away. Look at you now. Wearing a black jacket a little too small. I never would’ve guessed.”

Miller scowls. “I’m not nice,” he says.

Bellamy smiles slowly. “Nah, maybe not,” he says with a knowing tone. Miller hates that tone. “Maybe it’s something else.”

Dinner is a quiet affair with his dad. David eats slowly, methodically, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. Miller eats fast and is done when David reaches the half-way point. It’s awkward, sitting there with his dad, and it’s as though Miller _is_ different. He’s not sure what that means.

“Am I different?”

David pauses chewing, swallows and then squints at Miller. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

Miller’s not sure why it bothers him, but sometimes he thinks of Monty’s smile at the forest’s edge and it makes him want to do something. Solve something, kill something, just _something_. Monty’s not okay and Miller needs to do something. He is a product of his environment and his parents were always doing something. “I’m gonna go,” he says, standing, and takes the scratched, make-do plate to rinse it off.

 

 

He’s walking back to the room he’s sharing with his dad when he hears Jasper. He’s shouting, words not yet distinct, but Miller quickly finds him. He has Monty up against a wall, a hand around his neck, and Miller barely notices that Monty’s wearing his old coat before he’s grabbing Jasper by the neck and throwing him to the ground and is on him, punching his face, anywhere he can get and oh, man, this feels _good_. To do something. To get this fizzing anxiety out of him. He was always like this, a little too violent, a little too eager to act and move, to protect.

“Nate, stop, please,” Monty says and it is his use of Nate that stops Miller. He stares at Monty.

“He had you by the throat,” he says hoarsely. “By the throat, Monty, I—”

“I deserve it,” Monty says. “I deserve it and more.”

Jasper coughs and groans, rolling onto his side. There’s blood on his face, bruising already visible, and it gives Miller a vindictive pleasure. “No, you don’t,” he insists. “Of all people, _you_ don’t.”

Monty looks confused and that hurts Miller; he’s not sure why. “Miller,” Jasper says, voice a little wet and he’s scrambling away before sneering at Monty. “Can’t even fight your own fights, can you? Gotta get someone else, like Nate here.”

“You don’t get to call me that,” Miller says, standing to stalk closer. Jasper looks panicked for a brief moment before he regains his anger.

“Go ahead, punch me, I don’t care,” Jasper spits out. “I won’t keep silent though. See how much daddy’ll still love you after this, if Bellamy will still favor you.”

Miller, holding Jasper by the collar, has his fist ready to punch him before he abruptly lets go. There’s nothing to gain from further beating the other up. “Get out,” he says. Jasper scrambles up and gives Monty a last, warning look before he disappears.

“You shouldn’t’ve done that,” Monty says.

Miller snorts and flexes his fingers. He’ll need to wash his hands, rinse them in cold water. All of the water is cold, so no problem there. “He shouldn’t’ve touched you,” he counters; a closer look at Monty’s face, the stony acceptance, makes him step closer to him. “You— you really believe you deserve this,” he says, crowding closer, trying to understand what Monty’s thinking. “That Jasper taking his anger out on you is some sort of penance.”

Monty flinches and backs away; a moment later he’s backed against the wall he was previously held against. “What do you mean?”

“I’m right, aren’t I,” Miller says. “You don’t like the person you think you’ve become.”

“Who would?” Monty asks bitterly, staring up at him. Their heights aren’t that far apart but this is— this is the closest they’ve been in a long time, if ever. Miller never realized how tall those two inches make him. There is an urge to kiss him and he is cupping Monty’s cheek in one palm before he realizes it. It’s part of his act-first-think-second self. 

“ _I_ do,” Miller says. “I like you as you are now and as you were. I think you’re the same Monty as ever. Self-sacrificing, loyal, and so much more.”

The dim lighting flickers as someone walks by the source and Miller swears Monty’s eyes flick from his eyes to his lips. Miller swallows and leans a little closer.

“Nate!”

It’s his dad and Miller jerks back. His thumb sweeps Monty’s cheek before he flees.

 

 

Of course, Miller rationalizes running away. He continues to rationalize avoiding Monty because, surely, Monty’s too busy to talk to him, busy with Agro, and, uh, not talking, stuff like that. Miller’s busy too, starts following in his dad’s footsteps a little more and breaks up a fight between lovers and families and others about all sorts of things. He feels useful, which feels good.

Miller realizes he hasn’t felt good in a long time. Perhaps not since Monty complimented him, saying _hey, you’re a great thief_. He’s in the middle of training, hand-to-hand with others, when he sees Monty watching from the edge and then he’s on his back, wheezing and Lily peering down at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” he says, waving her away, and sits up. Monty smiles at him when their eyes meet and Miller’s heart beats faster. Someone walks by, tapping Monty on the shoulder and then they walk off together. Miller watches and then his dad is grabbing his hand and pulling him up.

“You’ve got it bad,” David says ruefully. “I never thought this day would come.”

“What day?” Miller asks, trying not to look at Monty’s retreating back, wearing Miller’s jacket.

David’s eyebrows grow up. “Oh, boy, you’re as oblivious as I was. Good luck.”

Miller frowns as David claps him on the shoulder and walks away.

 

 

“What did you mean?” Miller asks Bellamy, cornering him as he’s serving lunch. “When you said something else?”

Bellamy grins. “You’re rather anxious today,” he says. “Oh, is that Monty?”

Miller double-takes and scowls when Bellamy’s claim turns out to be false. “Just talk to him, Miller.”

He told Monty that everyone should start calling him Nate, but he doesn’t want anyone else calling him that anymore. His dad is one thing, but that name coming from anyone else’s lips is not okay. “I don’t want to.”

“Can’t make you do anything you don’t want to,” Bellamy says while serving himself. “But I’m pretty sure you want to.”

Miller watches Bellamy walk away, stuffing his hands in the jacket pockets.

“What do you want to do?” Monty asks, suddenly next to him and imitating Miller’s pose.

“What the— Monty,” Miller says, putting distance between them. “And, uh, he didn’t— it was nothing. Bye.”

“Wait, hey,” Monty says, following him out of the eating area. “You’re avoiding me.”

“No, I’m not,” he says, no direction in mind, only directive being to keep moving. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, for instance, now?”

Miller shrugs, legs moving quickly out of the enclosure, stumbling over the rocks littering the ground before catching himself. “I’m not avoiding you,” he says. “I would never.”

“Hmm,” Monty says, keeping pace. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he says. They’re at the forest’s edge, where they always seem to be. Miller stares at Monty and can’t help but notice that he seems happier now. Better in some way. Miller doesn’t hold back the smile. “You look good.”

Monty’s eyebrows go up. “What.”

Miller blinks. “Oh. Nothing. Never mind.”

“Okay.”

They stand in silence and Miller shifts awkwardly. “Look, did you need something?”

Monty tilts his head thoughtfully. Miller notices he got a haircut recently; it’s not as long and doesn’t cover his neck as well as it once did. He’s going to get cold again— for once, Miller wonders why he cares and why he gave the jacket in the first place. He’s not sure, except that it felt right.

“The jacket’s warm,” Monty says and holds his arms out in front of him. The arms go to the tip of his fingers and Miller laughs. “Though a bit big.”

“I’m glad,” Miller says, then hastens to correct, “about it being warm. I was worried. You kept wearing only that sweater and there’s no way it’s warm enough.”

Monty smiles gently, head ducking down and then back up. To avoid their eyes meeting, Miller looks to the sky. “Think it’ll snow today?”

“Don’t know,” Monty says. There’s the rustle of dead leaves being stepped upon and when Miller looks down again, Monty is close. Very close. Too close, even.

“What—” Miller takes a step backwards, but Monty inches closer again.

“So,” Monty says. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“K-k-kiss?” Miller asks, laughing desperately. “Me, kiss you?”

Monty shrugs. “You were going to, before, weren’t you?” Monty reaches for his arm and Miller doesn’t resists as Monty places it along his jawline. “Your hand was here and you were leaning down.”

Miller remembers the dim light, the shadows flickering over Monty’s face, and how large his eyes were. They’re large now, in the light of day, and he looks tired. Miller’s thumb sweeps along his cheekbone. “How do you keep your skin so soft,” he murmurs.

Monty snorts. “This is taking too long,” he says, putting a hand at the back of Miller’s head and pulls him down until their lips meet. Miller gasps, tries to move back, away, but Monty’s arm is an anchor around his neck. “No running away this time Nate.”

“I—” Miller says, but there’s nothing else to add on. What could he say? That he’s scared of fucking this up royally, as he feels he’s bound to do? Monty is precious, a fount of good that he’ll stain with blood. Then— he remembers Monty looking up to the sky, the graceful curve of his neck with a bump for his adams apple, and Monty saying he’s different. They all are. Monty isn’t the carefree boy who came down here, and Miller was not as vengeful, burning up from within.

He kisses back fiercely, as though this is his only chance in the world for redemption, gripping the back of Monty’s neck. "No more being alone," he says when they break apart. "If I ever see you alone, I swear--"

Monty laughs. It's the sweetest sound. "Got it, man, you're such a worrier. Who knew."

"Monty," Miller growls. "I'm serious. You can't keep it all bottled up. It's unhealthy."

"Says Mr Strong and Silent," Monty replies. "The same goes for you. No more bottling. If you ever want to say anything, come to me."

Miller frowns. "I'm not a talker," he says.

Monty smiles softly and tilts his head so their foreheads are more firmly pressed against each others, noses just brushing. "You'll learn."

 

(Dinner goes from two people to three. Monty starts talking again and Miller learns how to relax, smiling honestly, engages Monty in lively conversation. David seems happy that his son is finally happy. Sometimes Monty has nightmares and for a long time he refuses to go near computers. Miller learns how to kill with more efficiency, though he also learns how to take someone down without killing them. Before, that wasn’t a concern; now it is.

Monty is the only one who calls him Nate. It never catches on and Miller is grateful. It is just for the two of them.)

**Author's Note:**

> AHHH LOOK A FIC FROM ME??? well I hope you liked this! it was meant to be shorter, but ah well, I don't mind! if you like this and want more of my wonderful self check me out on [tumblr](serbellamy.tumblr.com)!


End file.
